Pacman
by Ireland.man
Summary: The real story that inspired the addictive game.


-1There were many claims of this practice through-out history. It must be remembered that because of the almost unbelievable nature of the act, it was easy to dehumanise a people and to make them appear as barbarians by claiming they take part in it, to insult them with it. But tribes found in the Amazon Basin actually did it. So too the peoples of Fiji, and the Aztecs on an unimaginable scale. The word itself derives from a Spanish term applied to the Carib Indians they encountered on their first steps through-out the New World. Cannibalism! It is agreed that only a person so depraved could eat another and that only whispers should be ushered to tell the terrifying tales of such behaviours.

But the history of cannibalism did not interest him right now. In fact nothing could enter his mind except the thought of pushing his painfully tired knees and legs more and more. He felt like he had been on the run for hours. None of the doors would open, and he knew that there was no hiding from his pursuers. It wasn't so much that he decided to rest in the doorway, he simply collapsed in a heap as his body reached its limit. He knew now that he has never felt tiredness before, it was only when he experienced this amount of physical effort that he realised he has never been actually exhausted before. And then his mind drifted back to a day he spent hiking with his wife.

"Come on Pac, man you're so slow!" said a voice from behind a large oak tree further ahead on the slope. Wheezing and coughing, he managed to retort "I'm going to bite you when I get to you, Pepper!", thinking about this playful threat made Pac give a wry smile as he thought about his present predicament.

Suddenly a noise came from behind the corner. Pac drew himself up onto his aching feet and slowly began to gain speed in the opposite direction. The men after him would not stop. They needed less rest. And they would not hesitate to do to him what they had done to his only child. It felt like a lifetime ago but only hours before he had watched the worst event anyone could live through and keep their mind. He had his only son pulled out of his arms by crazed men, no by crazed creatures, who proceeded in front of him to pull apart and eat the hapless child. "Pac-Baby, no, don't please, my… Pac-Baby!!!" The combination of his pet name for his son and the awful death unfolding in front of his reddened eyes was too much for him to remember. He needed to survive, not for himself. Not for his wife. But for the only thing he had left to do. He needed to kill these four pursuers in the same manner they took his life and his offspring. He would turn the tables soon. He just needed to get to the guns he had earlier placed at the corners of this town.

The town itself was bombed out and ruined. It had been years since the war but it still lay as empty and as much a victim of the time as the day the soldiers had left it. Bad memories were not the only survivors however. His pursuers were not animals. They should not be given such an excuse. They were men angry at being left to waste by civilisation. By had bred through their generations an intense hatred of outsiders. And something far sinister. Since the world economy had collapsed there had been many instances of cannibalism. It was restricted to the dead bodies of war victims. And although it was common across all people, in all countries it was never, ever talked about. But here, this occasional practice used for sheer survival by most had now developed into a game for these men. They were not physically different, or even mentally different from the people Pac came from. But they were mutants. They lived in this town and chased anything that happened along their web of terror. Pac now had to find his way out of this nightmare, tracing his steps along the tight corridors. No building could he hide in, nor hole could he protect himself in. Instead he had to run, like a mouse through a maze, if he wanted to reach the the weapons. At any point another one of the men could appear around a corner. He had some close calls. He double back more than once as one would appear and lunged at him with open mouth. Maybe it was his situation but he had never seen such a mouth open so wide before. And these predators were not hungry or starved. They were fat and plump, almost rounded with tiny legs. It was amazing they could travel this fast. But they could, and Pac needed to remember that and never slow down.

He could hear the three of them closing behind him. They were getting closer and he knew that if he hesitated as he turned each approaching corner that they would be on him. But he was so close! He was already running along the furthest side, hugging the wall almost as he continued north. Suddenly, there it was! The chace of arms. Continuing to run, he reached down and almost at full sprint he pulled up the first thing he felt… it was a close-quarters Pancor-Jackhammer or Auto-Assault 12 combat shotgun. As an ex-military man Pac knew that this weapon wouldn't have been his preferred choice of shotgun in any situation but here in these circumstances it was like a godsend spear. He suddenly felt invigorated. As he spun round and faced his attackers he blasted off round after round. They panicked and fled in all directions. Now he felt he was the predator and they were his prey. The colour of his skin changed dramatically, into a brighter, stronger shade as his cannibalistic prey's skin hue darkened with fear and panic. He now felt adrenaline pump through his veins and he was able now to run at a far faster pace than before. He gained on one cannibal and blasted him, felling it into the dirt with a thump. He knew he had to rush but he also understood that he had a duty of little Pac-Baby. He bent over the still warm body of his previous pursuer and pulled a chuck of meat form him. He had to do what they did to him and his family. Then the chase was on for the next one. But suddenly his glee started to drain away. He knew he was running out of shells. They knew too. It was as if he could hear the fast beat of his heart, the rapid music of his chest slow down and then stop. His prey turned, he turned, the chase was on again. To the south he needed to go. South was where the other weapons were. There he could destroy the remaining attackers….


End file.
